Spring Fever
by lemmingpudding
Summary: The Minister of Spring gets sick, but that doesn't stop the Minister of Autumn from harassing him, among other things. Redleaf/Hyacinth silliness. Started out as a cracky ficlet for my friend, but I got carried away. Rated M to put pressure on future chapters.
1. Hot & Bothered

Winter was coming to a close, and preparations for springtime were going swimmingly.

Redleaf drifted past a line of tinker fairies in charge of repairing equipment that had broken during use. At this time of the year, he'd normally be doing lines of dust back at his house or trying to calm Hyacinth the fuck down. That neurotic perfectionist always got even more batshit a week or so before the Everbloom's signal.

Some tinker was tinkering with some lost-shit contraption when it EXPLODED but not really, but shit was flying everywhere. Redleaf didn't bat an eye, even when a metal spring thing whizzed past his bigass schnoz by a hair and bounced around the corner. As the other fairies nearby hurried to help the poor dumbass gather the exploded things, Redleaf casually started fluttering toward the spring around the corner.

"Achoo!"

Redleaf stopped in his invisible, mid-air tracks.

"Goddammit, Hyacinth, is that you?"

"What? No. It's just a spring," a voice replied, followed by a weary looking fairy, metal spring in hand. His wings drooped, his usually perfectly groomed hair was disheveled, and even the blossoms that adorned it looked exhausted. Hyacinth always tired from stress at this time of year, but it hardly got this bad. It was possible that the memory of last year's barely-avoided catastrophe was worrying him.

"Very funny. I thought you had a fever. Isn't that why I'm overlooking things here instead of you?" Redleaf thought fondly of his dust lines back at home, but snapped back to attention as Hyacinth gave another short, weirdly high-pitched sneeze. Redleaf suppressed chuckling at how _small_it sounded.

"I am perfectly fit, thank you very much," Hyacinth said indignantly, nose twitching with another oncoming widdle sneezerdoodle. "Who asked you to help me with _my_job, anyway?"

Redleaf landed to speak to him eye-to-eye. "You did," he said matter-of-factly.

"What?" he scoffed.

"Yesterday morning. You really don't remember?"

Hyacinth shifted his eyes sideways. "I must've been so busy with preparations that I mis-spoke..." The Minister of Autumn silently sustained his poker face, despite watching the adorable way Hyacinth bit his bottom lip as a shred of doubt started showing in his shrinking posture.

Hyacinth cleared his throat and forced himself to stand upright. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get to work." When he upturned his chin, a sign that always announced his signature "make way" walk, Redleaf could easily see the redness of his nose and the gray under his eyes.

"Oh yes, perfectly fit," Redleaf said as Hyacinth strode past and tried weakly to fly. "And I suppose what's making you sneeze so much is just all that flower sperm."

Hyacinth snapped his head around, a fierce blush coming over his already illness-reddened face. "Excuse you?"

Redleaf smirked. The thing about being viewed so stoic is that flustering others only helps your reputation. The Minister of Spring was a frequent target of his, for obvious reasons.

"Pollen, my dear Minister. Don't get so worked up."

"As if that isn't your aim!" Hyacinth huffed. "You should be more careful with your word-choice, anyway. You're a Minister!"

"It's a natural phenomenon, _Minister_," Redleaf stated, striding toward the increasingly fidgety sparrowman to stand beside him. "It's what flowers _do_. They can't help themselves...

"Or, would you prefer if I didn't speak of your precious flowers so _sexually_?" he said softly, slinging an arm around Hyacinth's waist.

An incoherent sputter of sounds came out of Hyacinth's mouth.

He squirmed a bit much to get out of Redleaf's lax hold and at an armslength away.

"I think you're quite done here! I have work to do!" he squeaked. Redleaf could tell he was trying his best to hide his fever, the way his knees occasionally wobbled. But he also knew the only way to get Hyacinth to give in was to out-do him—let the fever overcome him until he simply can't retort anymore. Only then could he drag that sweet ass back to recover.

"Are you telling me to go home?" Redleaf took a step forward and, trying to maintain that personal bubble of space, Hyacinth took one backward. "Where I'll be all alone?" Another step forward, another backward. "Worrying about you?" A step forward, a wall.

Hyacinth's back was against the wall and the leaves of Redleaf's collar crunched softly against the petals around his own neck, where he could feel the other Minister's breath. Redleaf raised a hand to adjust the uneven wreath of flowers around Hyacinth's head, when Hyacinth sneezed. Right in his face. Well, side-jaw-face area.

He dropped the spring he was holding and it clinked noisily on the floor.

"There's that spring!" a voice shouted across the room. Hyacinth's whole body flinched at the noise and then slumped as Redleaf clamly stepped aside. An oblivious and/or slash-fan tinker fairy came fluttering over and picked up the spring. "Thanks, Ministers." She turned to Hyacinth, who was slouching against a wall and breathing heavy, his hair is disarray and face red as berries. "Err, should you be here, sir? You don't look so good."

"Indeed," Redleaf said, wiping the side of his face with his sleeve. "See, you're worrying the others too. You want to be in top shape for the mainland's equinox, don't you?"

"But I..." Hyacinth mumbled. "I have to..."

"Don't worry about a thing, Minister!" the tinker assured. "We're ahead of schedule, so you should just go home and rest. Get well soon!"

Redleaf watched her zip back to her work station, but Hyacinth's eyes were fixed and narrow at the other Minister. Redleaf gave a small wave back to the tinker before returning his apparent attention to Hyacinth. "You heard her."

He remained silent and motionless, unless you count the gradually slower rise of his chest as his breathing returned to normal.

"Need some help there...?"

"_No_," Hyacinth said louder than necessary. He quickly moved away from the wall and uselessly tried flying again. The flight to reach the tinkers' headquarters had taken its toll on his strength, but Redleaf caught him when he stumbled. "Perhaps."


	2. Now Was That So Hard Cider

"So. Yesterday morning."

Redleaf handed Hyacinth a cup of his specialty cider. "What of it?"

"I know I was sick in bed most of yesterday, but I don't remember speaking to you at all."

Redleaf crossed the room to get his own cup of cider and think about that day. About how he volunteered to check on Hyacinth when Snowflake mentioned him not turning up to meet with the head garden fairy. About how he found him sleeping, sweating and shaking slightly. How he touched his forehead for temperature and Hyacinth held on to his wrist when he was about to draw back. How he couldn't seem to pull away from the weak grip, and ended up kneeling beside his bed for several minutes before Hyacinth woke to a feverish half-sleep. How Hyacinth smiled ruefully when he said he was sorry to miss the last preparations for spring.

Redleaf had always attributed Hyacinth's job obsessiveness to being the newest Minister of the four, and therefore the least experienced, and just general, characteristic fussiness. Obviously every Minister loves their respective season, but for some reason he'd never considered that Hyacinth was chosen _because_of his passion for the act of bringing about the spring.

He drifted back toward Hyacinth and sat on the edge of the bed. "You missed an appointment, and Snowflake asked me to check on you. You were pretty out of it, but you told me to make sure everything was going according to schedule."

"The... schedule that I made?"

"It was on your desk." Redleaf shrugged and took a sip of cider.

Hyacinth blinked slowly, wearily. "And you were only at the tinkers' by this time?"

"I'm not _you_. I got sidetracked elsewhere."

He almost regretted falling behind Hyacinth's careful schedule after coming to check on him again the previous evening. And then again that morning.

Almost.

"Oh. Well, even so... and even though we're falling further behind right now, thank you. I know you don't do this kind of thing until the end of summer."

Redleaf just nodded without saying a word, and continued drinking his cider. Damn, that's good cider.

Hyacinth shifted under the covers and then took a sip as well. Redleaf knew how much Hyacinth loved talking on and on about preparations, and his loss for words because of these circumstances was _hilarious_.

"Isn't this a bit out of season?" Hyacinth said, breaking the silence.

"A bit of autumn inside you should be welcome any time of year, I think," Redleaf said, noting Hyacinth's sputtering of cider at the innuendo, "Though I may be a tad biased."

"_I'll say_," Hyacinth muttered irritably, grimacing at his drink. "Save your nonsense. Even you couldn't corrupt a simple beverage."

Immediately, he knew that challenge was a mistake.

"I'll have you know, I take my cider very seriously."

"Of course."

"Because don't you just love that taste of fall, so steamy and hot—"

"Nice try, Redleaf."

"—warms you up at night—"

"The sun is still out."

"—goes so smoothly down your throat—"

"Are you done yet?"

"—really hits the _spot_."

Redleaf grinned, and then took a loud, unnecessarily lengthy sip.

"Charming as always," Hyacinth declared with zero amusement, though the tips of his ears were reddening. Whether from annoyance or embarrassment, Redleaf's mental scorecard did not care.


	3. Nosier Than Red's Face

What's often referred to as the Ministers Lounge was not, actually, ever explicitly restricted to only Ministers, as division heads or new and confused fairies often came and went through it as well. Granted, they only _ever_ came and went, never stayed for long, to consult a Minister or middleman a few milligrams of processed dust with Red. The Ministers attributed this to its relatively isolated location to the hustle and bustle of the Hollow, rather than by how reliably they could be found, well, lounging about.

Redleaf was reclined in his usual spot, jotting down ideas for more efficient paint methods for mixing _burnt orange_that did not involve fire when his two favorite ladies entered the Lounge side by side.

"How's our wilting spring blossom doing?" Sunflower sing-songed as she flitted past him.

"I'm sorry?" he answered absentmindedly.

"Please, like you don't reek of apple cider. I can't believe you didn't invite me. I'm hurt, Red," Snowflake teased.

"Forgive me, darling. It wasn't _hard_ cider, though, so don't look so upset," he said pleasantly, because she didn't look upset at all. She looked almost smug, in fact. "You shall always and forever be my favorite drinking buddy, oh apple of my eye, corn on my cob, et cetera, et cetera."

"That's what I like to hear," Snow said with a toothy grin.

"What does that last one even _mean_?" Sunflower scoffed.

"'Et cetera,'" Redleaf repeated dryly, " 'and so on and so forth'—"

"You're avoiding the question."

"I'm sorry, I thought I was answering it, actually."

"No, no, that one was rhetorical—"

"I wouldn't get _near_ your cob."

"—I meant the question before that."

Redleaf narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Word amongst the tinkers is," Snow explained articulately, as if waiting for a physical reaction from Redleaf, "our dear Hyacinth was seen trying to sneak into a workshop earlier today, where he practically swooned from illness."

"I wonder if that's _all_ he swooned from…" Sunflower chirped, eyes twinkling.

"I wouldn't know anything about that," he chuckled.

"So you're saying that some _other_ autumn-leaf-clad fairy was spotted frequenting by his house all day?" Sunflower joked, breathy with feigned ignorance contemplation.

Red's smile faltered for a moment. Sure, he got a kick out of making a spectacle out of teasing the other ministers, Hyacinth in particular. (It's all in good fun and great for boosting good feelings all around… except probably Hyacinth's, but he's a big boy, he can handle it. Ministers live to serve their fellows, damn it). But behind the scenes, Redleaf valued his privacy. And those checks-in on Hyacinth were private, no matter how reasonable or innocent or even commendable they sounded as smalltalk. Outside the crowd, Redleaf's business was his own, and he was certain there was no crowd by Hyacinth's quarters.

"Just looking out for our friend," he said matter-of-factly, "Not like my schedule is very busy this time of year anyhow."

Snowflake gave him a soft smile. "In all seriousness, thank you for taking care of him. You're the only one short of the Queen herself who can coerce him to deviate from that work ethic of his."

"Oh yes, lucky for the Minister everyone but me just has too much heart to _bully_ him around." If there was a twinge of self-loathing in that, Redleaf promptly brushed it off.

"He doesn't even _know_ how lucky," Sunflower joked.

"Completely oblivious," Snow agreed almost too quietly for Redleaf to hear, her grin growing sly.

* * *

A/N: I had a lot of studying to do last night so naturally I finished this and wrote the next chapter instead. Should be up later this weekend. Somehow more than one person is reading this so thank you so much! Though I feel the need to remind you not to take this story seriously at all. At. All.


	4. Keep It Under Your Hat

If you weren't born yesterday, you'd know that Redleaf is kind of an ass. That isn't to say he's not good at what he does, or that he's not likeable or defendable. None of his respectable qualities dim in light of his asshattery. But that _also_ isn't to say that his asshattery doesn't shine a thousand suns brighter every additional season you spend with him.

He can be as reliably snide as he can be competent, as amusingly clever as he can be deadpan, as unflinchingly generous as he can be stoic.

You grow accustomed to not knowing what to expect. After all, unpredictability is one thing you _should_ expect from the Minister of falling leaves and shifting colors, changing winds and transient time.

And you _know_ he knows this. You just _know_ he gets his kicks out of getting a reaction in the face of his very _non_-reaction.

You can't help it. You can't help your intrinsic nature from clashing with his. You can't help it that you need to have things done a certain way, or that you feel before you think about a certain thing. Can't help that, despite the look of repulsion on our face, you're more than okay with the fact he's paying you attention, that you're effecting that stupid grin on his stupid face, however smug or sincere.

You can't help it that you just want to snatch that stupid hat off his stupid head and throw it across the room, and then run your fingers through—

What is even under that hat? Hyacinth has never seen him without it. Is there hair? Is he covering up a birthmark? A giant bee sting that never fully healed? Is there just another hat? Is his skull actually _made of autumn leaves_? Is that why his name is Redleaf?

Hyacinth hates being sick. It makes him think silly thoughts that have nothing to do with anything he should be concerned with, and it's widely acknowledged that Hyacinth is very concerned with the "should" part of his existence. Perfection through responsibility, and a responsibility for perfection. Or something like that.

Really, if not accomplishing something productive, he should be sleeping and _getting the hell better_. But more importantly, not thinking about Redleaf. And his stupid hat. Certainly he can't think it stylish, especially in the summers. So does he think it mysterious? Does he think himself more compelling for such mystery? Or perhaps sentiment? Habit? Symbolism? Authority?

Can any volume of hair even _fit_ under that thing? Hyacinth is suddenly hyper-aware of his own—always (not counting this terribly inconvenient and infuriating spell) maintained and primmed and even seasonal (with Snowflake's help, every winter). He'd be lying if he said he didn't keep it up so for the sake of appearances. He doesn't wear richly colored, carefully picked petals just for the job. He's a firm believer of outward appearances reflecting your inner expression. To wear your heart on your sleeve, as some folks put it.

But then there's Redleaf, whose asymmetrical belt has _always bothered Hyacinth (he should just takeitoff)_. And Redleaf's stupid hat. Puzzling yet unique and sometimes distracting and concealing his eyes when he turns away from you at certain angles.

Hyacinth turns his face into his bed, catching whiff of his sickly sweet, sweat- and fever-damp hair, traces of smokey cider still lingering. His face heats up and his stomach churns. _Nausea_, he reasons, and lets out a groan of frustration at how, despite being very, _very_ tired, he can't seem to get any rest.


End file.
